


The Lost Paladin

by prettyshiroic (kcgane)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Conflict Resolution, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Family, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Found Family, Future Fic, Gen, Happy Birthday Keith, Introspection, Keith (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Post-War, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Tension, i cried so many times writing this :')))
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 06:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12475372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcgane/pseuds/prettyshiroic
Summary: If he doesn’t leave, all of him will be reduced to cinders.But if he leaves, all of him will be undone.A course that he will choose to chart, no matter how it breaks his heart.It’s a battle that cannot be won.-Their names burn inside him, seared onto his soul. Black coal sits in the centre of his chest, fuelling a fire that was soon to be smothered by the very people that set it ablaze.





	The Lost Paladin

**Author's Note:**

> hb keith........

Keith has always found familiarity in places.

It’s something natural to him. A network of places, that becomes the sense of home rather than a fixed focal point. It’s natural like the rocks beneath his feet as he charts out the mountains in the desert. Natural like the cactus wren that find shelter in the roof, despite him having built a perfectly habitable birdhouse on the other side. Natural like the orange waning sun when it sets and brings about the chill of the night. Natural like the way energy bursts through the craters left by the words _pilot error_ and fills those holes with an incessant thrumming.

The desert shack is a place he carved himself a new purpose when people had refused to so much as consider his feelings. The shack didn’t question the nights he sat and talked and talked and _talked_ mindlessly into the dictaphone. Observation logs soon turning into private personal outlets of emotion and things deeply suppressed. Even when Iverson had cut him loose from the Garrison, called him their biggest disappointment, the spires of solitude rose up from the land. They welcomed him in.

The land had always welcomed him.

He had always belonged where the land welcomed him, where _places_ welcomed him.

That soon extends into space. 

So it’s when Keith starts to find familiarity in _people_ , he knows it’s the beginning of the end. It just cannot last. He’s prepared to watch it crumble, or for the universe to cruelly strip it all away. Tear out the roots when they’ve just been planted, or spoil them - let them decay. He fought for Shiro. Over and over. _As many times as it takes._ When the Kerberos Mission yanked him away, Keith grabbed the reigns and yanked just as hard. _Give him back._ And each and every time Shiro came back, Keith grew evermore terrified. Because a pattern had become all too clear. No matter how tightly Keith wound the strings binding their fates together around their wrists, no matter how fiercely he proclaimed _nothing’s going to happen to you._ Something always did. The universe gave way. Again. And again.

_And again._

It’s a temporary stasis. False security. It’s a calmness that’s nothing more than an illusion and cannot last, because panic creeps into every corner of it and takes hold. _How long will this last. How much longer._

Then Keith was foolish enough to find familiarity in the paladins, too. But finding belonging, _family_ in people is an unnatural, alarming thing. Because people talk. People like to talk and assume and think they know best. People like to feel in control. People change. People hurt you. People hurt _themselves_ for you. They let you down and they let themselves down. People leave. People _die._ People destroy you. People can destroy themselves for you.

People leave.

In comparison, places don’t speak. Places don’t really change. Places can’t leave you. But Keith can leave those places of his own accord. Finding familiarity in people is a risk. And whilst Keith has always been one to take chances, every step he takes swathed in a fire that pushes him towards the edge of his own oblivion or higher into everything he could be, taking a chance on people is the biggest risk of his life.

Keith hears the swansong in people. He sees the exasperation in the new foster parents’ eyes as they invite him for dinner, and when he struggles to answer their questions. Because it’s always been an interview, _are you suitable for our family,_ not an invitation to join them. Sometimes he hears it all falling apart before it’s started. And the day he hears it in team Voltron, he is horribly underprepared for it.

Voltron was never going to be permanent. Keith knew that from day one. But he had never expected confirmation. Or _proof._ Standing in the Olkarion sunset with the paladins of Voltron, Shiro had talked of the end. The team spoke nostalgically, as if recollecting memories dredged up from other lives. End of an era, end of an age. They spoke as if this wasn’t _the_ single fundamental life-altering event, as if the grounding sense of purpose and _belonging_ could be found elsewhere. They spoke as if Voltron had given them purpose, but it hadn’t been the monumental calling tying the wires of their spirits together - _finally_ fastening everything into place.

They had already made plans for the future. A future divided, scattered across the universe. New purposes. New horizons. New adventures. New _places_ and new people. Old people too, people from their past and their _families_.

The smile had slid from Keith’s lips at the mention of returning to earth. Pidge declared she would continue to search for her family, and Keith knew he couldn’t begrudge her for it. That wasn’t fair. Lance wanted to go home, desperately so. Hunk did too. They deserved to. Of course they did. And then the silence fell, and all of a sudden he was being called upon quietly. _What will you do when this is over, Keith? Where will you go._ _Who will you have left?_

He's so foolish to find familiarity in these people. 

His voice breaks over a pitiful declaration, far from the usual conviction he holds close. _I guess I could look for mine._ Family. The irony of it strangled him that day, the rasp in every word betraying him. But somehow, nobody had thought twice about it. Probably because Keith continuously endeavoured to maintain distance, keep up walls to ensure that familiarity didn’t get _too close._

And just like that, in the moments before one of their biggest battles in the fight against Zarkon, this family they had strived to make was already dissipating.

It was a family forged in war, in the suffering of thousands. It was powerful. Probably too powerful. Keith has always known better than to expect anything. So he expects nothing from the team, from people. It isn’t easier or better. It’s just more realistic.  

Plight or flight.

Keith thinks he let it all fester beneath his skin too deeply, let them become a parasite that gnawed away at his bones until they were bruising and heart was crumbling. Their names burn inside him, seared onto his soul. Black coal sits in the centre of his chest, fuelling a fire that was soon to be smothered by the very people that set it ablaze.

So when the time comes, when Voltron is truly over for good and the universe no longer has a need for _legendary defenders_ , leaving is the only logical option Keith can see.

If he doesn’t leave, all of him will be reduced to cinders.

♜

“You're human,” the bartender says and like clockwork the universe concaves and every eye in the room fixates on Keith. And Keith wants it to stop. He wants the universe to give it a god damn rest and stop tugging him into the centre of it all. He’s not suited for it, he belongs in the corners and outskirts. Above all, he wants the universe to stop trying to pretend he’s important. Because he's not. And that’s fine.

“You,” Lifting his head Keith catches the Unilu’s eyes as the alien wipes a ratty cloth across the bar. It looks less like cleaning, more like spreading the grime in this seedy establishment than anything else. “human.”

 _Barely,_ Keith thinks to himself with a bitter twist of his lip. What it means to be human anymore, he doesn't know exactly. Whilst it's unusual for humans to be this far out, it's not exactly uncommon anymore with the Galaxy Garrison programme pushing for earth integration. But that’s besides the point. Keith can still feel unwanted attention stewing all around. If he turns his head, he might just be able to meet the gaze of everyone in here.

“What's it to you?” he settles for asking impatiently between a few swigs of the alien liqueur. It burns his throat. He likes the sensation. Already, he knows what the bartender is asking, what everyone here wants to know.

“They were human...” the bartender muses with a nostalgic gleam in his eye that makes Keith wonder just how long it's been. How many years have passed since the abrupt rise and slow ebbing away of Voltron? Last time he could count it on one hand. Now he’s not sure he could even count it on two.

There’s a delay in reaction, sluggish with the heaviness in his chest, but Keith sits up to full attention. His lips are pursed tightly behind the glass, almost biting down on it to hold his tongue that slithers between his teeth. _Were._ He caught that implication and he doesn't like it. Their faces involuntarily flicker on the horizon and before they can come into focus - could he even still recall the tiny details of their faces anymore, or would it all just be a blurry mesh? - he slams the glass down.

“They're still out there.”

It's a hiss, with potency born from caring too much and repeatedly stamping down familiar embers, and Keith can't help feel he's just failed the biggest trial of his life. The words are quiet, but explosive. Behind it is an ever powerful storm, the kind you marvel at from a distance, never daring to get too close. He can’t look up now, feeling it all swirling dangerously on the surface. His eyes aren’t hollow and vacant anymore, they’re burning with the intensity of a thousand fires. Fist clenched, he stares down at the glass. A noticeable crack has formed from the impact.

It’s not the first thing he’s broken.

The bartender’s eyes grow curious, considering Keith. He can see this from the reflection cast on the bar. It's probably a good thing his hair is shaggy and overgrown, rough stubble lining his cheekbones, and that his appearance is positively haggard. The red biker jacket became worse for wear a few years back. Now he dons a brown leather bomber jacket. The collar is low, so the collar of a grey shirt beneath has been upturned. Tradition. The gloves remain despite a notable tear across the left palm. Habit. Nobody would suspect a paladin of Voltron, a hero of the universe, looking this way. Still, it’s too much to be here.

“That they are,” the Unilu agrees and the burst of relief in Keith’s chest rips through him violently. Unexpectedly. It’s overpowering just to know they’re okay. Of course they are. Gritting his teeth, he inhales quickly through his nose. Breathe. Eyes squeeze shut for a few seconds. Any attempts at scrambling for composure are gone. Walking into here has been a mistake, the luxury of anonymity has cost him dearly.

No matter where he goes, they follow him.

Chase him, perhaps. But Keith has never been one for wishful thinking and he’s not about to start now. Abruptly, he pushes off the stool. Tossing a few coins from his pocket onto the counter, he retreats. His fingers brush against something that used to be tucked in neatly and reverently, now frayed and worn around the edges.

 _“All but one,”_ Keith thinks he hears as the door slams shut behind him. Starting the engine ignition on the hovercraft, he drives through the congested streets.

His fingers don’t stop itching, no matter how hard he grips the handlebars.

♜

“You're not coming back,” Allura had said by the pod that night. Even after all their battles, all their victories, Keith had felt the bitter sting of defeat pulsing through him. _The swansong._ She had always been disarming like that. Sometimes he had wondered if she knew just how much so.

“Are you going to stop me?” he had asked, head inching a fraction higher.

Not out of pride or spite, just instinct. He was a being ensnared by sharpness, because sharpness had always served him well. Sharpness wouldn’t leave him. Places wouldn’t leave him, but he could leave places. People were going to leave him, _these people,_ so he had to take the first step. It’s logical. It was always logical. If he doesn’t leave, all of him will be reduced to cinders.

 _I'm not going to stop you, I'm going with you._ She had said that once. But both of them knew those words were outdated. With the start and end of war, the universe had changed. They had all changed, too.

“I know you better than that.”

Keith can never forget the helpless laugh he drew from her, then. Because it wasn't much of a laugh at all. Breathless and splintering across the starways. It’s the closest thing he’s ever heard to an open sob from Allura. The memory is a price he has to pay for making this choice. It’s either indulge this, or take out the photograph in his pocket. He can’t look. Not now.

Not like this.

♜

Sometimes he wants to believes it.

He wants to believe that Allura was right; that she knew him - that _any_ of them knew him. He wants to believe Shiro would know why this was the right choice.

He wants to believe they’d understand.  

♜

Keith isn’t sure just how Kolivan finds him. He’s been keeping himself off the radar between jobs, moving from place to place as soon as he can start to find dangerous familiarity in his surroundings. Even places can hurt him nowadays. Because they follow him, they follow him everywhere and anywhere. They’ve infected every place he’s been. He sees the desert in the wildness of this galaxy, and in the desert he sees them flying the blue lion and charting the course for their destiny. _You are the worst pilot ever!_  

But Keith has no excuse to give when an invitation to meet is offered via hologram. So they meet at a bar on a moon, on the outskirts of a system so very far from earth. Kolivan is already at the bar when Keith walks in, nursing some kind of drink. It’s such a surprising sight. Keith can’t help but smile at the picture Kolivan paints, because it’s pretty funny. The Galra looks so out of place in long dark robes and a stony unbreakable expression. Like a priest at a space disco. Or something.

“We didn’t have to meet here,” Keith says as a greeting, hopping onto the bar stool. Kolivan is slouched over, which is unusual in itself, now just a fraction taller rather than a good few heads.

“I had a suspicion that you would refuse to meet in any upstanding establishment.”

The bartender shrugs at the comment, not remotely offended by it nor at all ashamed in eavesdropping. The bar is smoky, dingy, a little overworn. Aliens from across the galaxy have come here to wallow, overindulge, _escape._ It’s hardly the place to harbour heroes of war and unsung legends. That makes it perfect. 

“It’s for the best.”

It is. If he says it enough times, he’ll believe in it. Even if he doesn’t want to. But it’s a few years too late to have regrets. Things have been said and done. Taking it back renders it all pointless. Meaningless.

“You speak objectively, but you must be aware this has always been a personal affair.”

Keith hates how Kolivan knows so much. There’s so much _knowledge_ embedded into everything he says. And it makes sense. Keith could pretend all he wants, but Kolivan knows him. He’s seen Keith through all the highs and all the lows. Throughout their time together fighting the empire, a bond had been formed.

“It’s still for the best.”

“The best for whom, exactly?” Kolivan asks brazenly. “I see no benefits to this arrangement. For you or them.”  

Bringing up the word _Voltron_ is a risk, and Kolivan has always remained careful and aware of his surroundings. Keith still understands exactly what he’s talking about. And he honestly has no idea what to say to that. So he backs down, changes the subject. But not before having a few sips of the liquor in the glass.

“How’re the new recruits?” he asks idly, for lack of better things to say. Despite the war being won, the Blade of Marmora continued on, slipping back into the shadows. They trained, ever cautious that peace would not last. Keith doesn’t blame them. The universe may still be riding on the aftershock of a triumphant victory, but even the history of humankind revealed peace is periodic and idealistic. Being prepared and embracing the power of hindsight is a smart move.

“Abysmal.”

“Like me, then.” It’s not self-depreciative or deliberately disgruntled, more an attempt at a joke of sorts. But Kolivan looks over in confusion.

“You were one of our best agents, and a great asset to our forces. What you achieved with us, and your former team was beyond extraordinary. You should be proud of those accomplishments, Keith.” Pause. “I am proud of them.”  

Keith stiffens at the words. In Kolivan’s voice he hears it, then. Between the static of the radio and the humming of an old engine. _I’m proud of you, son._

“You’re not my dad.”

Keith should stop talking _knows he should stop_ because this is a step too far. But he can’t. There’s something untamed and furious simmering beneath his skin that’s been brewing for years. Kolivan has given it a voice, an opportunity for the molten turbulence to erupt and seep through the cracks in his composure. He hasn’t picked up his blade and swung it for months. He needs a target, he needs release. Hot unyielding catharsis.

“I never intended to assume that position,” Kolivan says firmly. But he’s holding his glass tighter. The yellow in his eyes isn’t so bright, and Keith wonders what that means. He can’t read between the lines here. And he isn’t sure if he wants to uncover the things tucked out of sight. He’s the one who has overstepped. Not Kolivan.

“Then spare me a lecture.” Keith can sense it, the oncoming criticism. Judgement. Reprimanding of his behaviours and actions. Frankly, he doesn’t want to hear it. “I know I messed up and I - I _keep_ messing up. I’m trying, okay?” _Is he?_ Is he _really_ trying?

“Trying was never good enough for you,” Kolivan points out and _he’s right._ God. He is absolutely right.

Actions speak louder than words. Committing to a course and charting it is how Keith mapped out so much of his time fighting the Galra Empire. Do it. Or don’t do it. Be decisive. Be firm. Now the path twists and turns in a way so unpredictable he’s not sure he could find his way back to the admirable conviction and clear-cut purpose he moulded for himself. He plucked affirmations from his own bones, stitched them into his skin and wore them honourably. It was an armour that could never be pierced. The drive to do what was right, for the greater good. For his friends. For his team.

_He did this for them._

Didn’t he?  

Or did he do this for himself? Self-preservation in the face of a crushing blow. Instinct. Survival.

“You once chased truth and virtue. Now you cower from it.”

Keith knocks back the rest of the liquor and glares at Kolivan. He doesn’t like where this is going. It’s worse he can hear the truth in it.

“I’m not a coward.”

He’s fought the empire on the frontlines from day one of being in space. He took on _Zarkon_ directly to protect the Black Lion. He’s clashed blades with Lotor, and he’s dived headfirst into missions where death seemed imminent. He’s met fear head-on and charged mercilessly right through its core.

“You’re not a coward,” Kolivan agrees solemnly. Keith isn’t sure why he’s solemn. “Being afraid is natural, Keith. That is not cowardly. Letting it consume you when you have the means to fight back is an insult to everything you are.”

Fight back. _Fight back._ Keith grits his teeth and holds his head high. Chin juts out. Defence.

“You’re not my dad.” It’s weak resistance, mangled in his throat in such a humiliating way. The fact he’s gone back to his former argument reveals just how _right_ Kolivan is. Even now, he’s fighting back. But he’s fighting all the wrong things. He’s fighting the one person who has come closest to being a paternal figure. Standing from his stool, Kolivan casts him a final considering glance. It’s weighted, and it has impact. Keith realises then, he wanted to make Kolivan proud. He still wants to.

“Go home, Keith.”

_You’re home, son._

♜

The Lost Paladin.

That’s what the people of the reformed universe call him.

Keith is an enigma, a part of the story that evades definition and sometimes even real recognition. Many people don’t even know his name, it's slipped into the shadows over time. So _the lost paladin_ sticks. It’s memorable. Nostalgic.

Apparently, honourable.

♜

“You sure you can make it all up, lad?” the purple alien asks suspiciously as Keith trudges forwards and sets down half the payment for the room he’s had for the past week. It’s a small world and a smaller town, tucked away from the big bustling cities he’d been spending more time in lately.  

Lips pursing, Keith fishes his pockets for extra change he knows he doesn’t have. But it doesn’t matter. Because no matter what situation, what circumstance, Keith does right by his word. He says what he means, and he means what he says. Outside the little inn, there’s a job waiting for him. A simple transport job. Postage, mostly. His red hovercraft gets him places real fast. Not a lot of folks around here have travelled further than their own backyard. They’re easily impressed, so it’s easy money. More than enough to tie him over in this place for a few more nights.

“Yeah. Don’t worry. You’ll get the rest of the money tonight.”

“You work a lot, but I don’t see you using your room much to sleep. You’re not pushing too hard are you?” Oh. It’s then Keith realises the lady at reception isn’t asking out of suspicion at all, but it’s closer to concern. It’s something so lost in translation nowadays, Keith didn’t even think to factor it into their conversation. And that’s the cue, the indicator. An involuntary shudder makes it way up his spine. He never stays too long to get comfortable. This is partly why.

If he stays for this, _but he didn’t stay for them,_ then what kind of person does that make him?

“Sorry. I need to cancel the room reservation.”

“Is everything-”

“-It’s fine.” _It’s not fine._ Nothing is fine. Nothing is okay. “I just have to go now.”

Pushing the pile of money on the counter forwards desperately, Keith’s breath hitches. That covers it, it’ll cover his tracks too. His words begin to spiral rapidly.

“So I - I need to cancel. I can’t stay here any longer.” _I’m out of here. Get me out of here._  

He leaves before he can hear the receptionist calling out the name he gave them.

Takashi.  

♜

If he doesn’t leave, all of him will be reduced to cinders.  
But if he leaves, all of him will be undone.  
A course that he will choose to chart, no matter how it breaks his heart.  
It’s a battle that cannot be won.

♜

Keith has always been a hardworker. Whatever it is he commits himself to getting done, he sees it through with relentless focus and sharp precision. Every mission. Every job. Every task. He puts his back into it, he doesn’t quit. Kolivan was right about that much, at least. Well. The longer Kolivan’s words have stewed in his mind, the more Keith has found the dreadful dregs of truth precariously leaning too close to the life he’s living.

Now he sets his own course. He looks up at the stars at night and carves out his own path with the swish of his fingers. It's that easy. There’s no real direction, but that’s fine. It’s freedom with no reins, no confinements. A wild kind of freedom that surpasses reckless. Keith rides the waves of this freedom. Faster. Harder. He wanders, he roams across starways. He drifts amongst thousands of stars, all full of potential paths and callings. The sense of purpose Voltron and the blade of Marmora gave him is in the past. The past isn’t worth dwelling upon. Nor is the future.

Just the pathways in the present.

Keith has always been a creature of the present. The moment is what matters, where everything happens. It’s where choices are made, where promises are forged or cast aside. It’s where people live and it’s where people die. It’s the place that is most familiar to Keith, the most comfortable. In many senses, the present is his home. After all, imperatives work best in the present. Focused commands. Fixed goals to achieve. No matter how temporary, imperatives thrive in the present.

And if Keith is _anything_ , it’s the imperative incarnate.

Here in the present, he can deal with one thing. Then the next. He can forget, because there’s no room to remember. There’s little space for baggage. There’s a short decay in actions, bursting with energy because they still maintain their power. Thoughts are clipped, narrow in nature. There’s no room to deviate in the present. Keith may not have direction beyond each action, each word, each menial task - but in the present he deposits determination and harvests the force of it when moving forwards.

If he keeps moving, then he’ll be alright.

With momentum, he doesn’t need the past or the future. He just needs to keep moving. No stopping. No yielding. Just get on with - _whatever it is._ Today it’s helping a shop in Tanem move stock to and from their warehouse. Dismounting his hovercraft, Keith reaches for the boxes tied down with rope and begins unloading them.

“I’d recognise that stupid mullet anywhere.”

The voice has Keith jolting in surprise. _No._ No way. It can’t be. _Can it?_ Setting down the box in his hands before he drops it, Keith turns slowly to the source of the voice. And sure enough, it’s true. This shouldn’t be possible. But it’s happening. Now Keith has stopped moving, stopped working, stopped _focusing,_ the gravity of this meeting ripples through him. Oh _god._ Keith has to clasp the edge of his hovercraft to keep himself upright. _Shit. Shit._

“...Lance?”

The name falls from his lips breathlessly. Keith’s scared if he speaks again, Lance will disappear, a mirage born from exhaustion. A few blinks later, Lance is still there. He hasn’t moved an inch. Keith stares openly, taking in the former blue paladin. He shouldn’t engage. He’s thought this out over and over and resigning himself to leaving is his best bet. His _only_ bet. Averting his gaze, Keith grits his teeth. The second he looks away, his heart lurches uncomfortably in his chest. _How did you find me? Why are you here? What-_

“-No. No. You don’t get to do that,” Lance says darkly and it offsets everything. Keith doesn’t think he’s ever heard Lance on the precipice of such raw anger before. Not since Pidge took a hit on a mission and the shooter had the audacity to laugh. “You don’t get to look away when I’m right here.”

Slowly, Keith drags his eyes up to Lance’s face. The years have done him more good than Keith, that’s for sure. He certainly wears age well, with small crinkles that don’t detract from the brightness of his eyes and enviably consistent facial hair.

“Now I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen. And,” Jabbing a finger into Keith’s chest, Lance puffs out his lip. It should look like a pout, but he’s clearly on the verge of tears. “You’re not going to look away or…” Splutter. “ _Run away_. Got it?”

Keith nods weakly. Honestly, he couldn’t tear his eyes away even if he tried. Lance is fluid and compelling, a force he can’t hope to ignore. He never could, really. The pair of them had always been magnetised. For better or worse.

“So picture this. The war is won and it’s all finally over. We’re on our way to the big parade, only to discover there’s a pod missing. The tracker’s been removed. There’s no note. No - no _nothing,_ Keith! You left us. You just - the second Voltron was over you just got up and left us. Shiro needed you, man. We all needed you. But you left us.”

The words are underwhelming. Lance has clearly been planning this moment for possibly _years,_ and even he is frustrated with himself. He can’t get the words out properly, he can’t make it all fit. Keith feels like they’re stood in front of the black lion all again. The irritation rises, and he can’t contain it. He doesn't want to. Lance is always trying to help. Sometimes he just shouldn’t.

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

No words are better than insincere ones. Keith isn’t going to recite poetic carp about his feelings. They both deserve more than that. Still, the shame bubbles up inside him. He’s done this. He has done this to Lance, and to all of them.

“I’m sorry.”

He means it. He does. But it doesn’t mean he’d take it all back. And Lance snorts, as if he knows that. He probably knows.  

“You’re more than just a few years late there, buddy.”  

The nickname is swathed in something unpleasant. Fond in an archaic way. Keith doesn’t know what more to say. He doesn’t even _have_ anything to say. There is no explanation he can give that they would understand, there is no way he can stop things from hurting. It happened. He left. That’s on him. Maybe the others too, but it’s hardly the time.

“You gonna tell the others about this?” Keith asks.

Lance catches the implication and his left eye twitches. This meeting is over. It needs to be. For both of them.

“No.” Pushing past Keith, Lance slings the supplies over his shoulder. There’s a sniffle that would be pitiful in other circumstances, draw out a teasing remark. “It’d hurt them too much.”

Keith winces, because Lance always knew where to hit. He always knew the places to jab and how to make his words cut deep. This time is no different. Nails digging into skin, Keith spins on his heel.

“I was never part of the team,” he spits. “Not really.”

“Yes you were,” Lance spits right back and he’s getting closer. He’s getting louder too. People are starting to stare. “Not everyone in your life is going to abandon you, Keith!”

“You would’ve,” Keith whispers and he hates himself for it. God. But it’s true. There’s a pattern. There’s always been a pattern. And he knows it so well. The pattern never breaks. It’s logical to break it first, before it breaks him. Letting things run their course this time round hadn’t been an option.  

“You think you know everything but you’re full of nonsense.” Lance throws a hand up agitatedly. “You were scared, so instead of trying to let us in you just _decided_ that it was easier to abandon us?!”

Well, when you put it like that.

“You would’ve,” Keith repeats mechanically, because if he doesn’t believe it now then everything he’s done is for nothing. It’s all for nothing and he’s missed every opportunity he’s ever had for happiness. Or something close to it.

“ _You idiot. We never did._ ” Lance pushes something into Keith’s palm, blinking back tears. For a moment, Keith thinks he’s going to be engulfed by his arms, but there’s a hasty retreat. The touch has Keith’s skin burning. He wants to reach out and pull Lance into a hug himself. There’s an impulse to do it, to tug on the hoodie and hold on tight. But he _can’t_ do that. Opening his palm, Keith looks down at the device.

“What’s this?” He’s afraid to ask, something fretful rises inside him and seizes him tight. Whatever it is, there’s something unsettling about it. From the way Lance goes quiet, to the way it feels heavier than it ought to. A burden. Perhaps one Lance has carried for longer than he’s let on to anyone else. That sure sounds like Lance.  

“Thank you.” Lance doesn’t answer his question, a sad smile curling in the corner of his mouth. “I needed to see you. I needed this closure.”

 _Closure._ Keith’s eyes widen. That sounds permanent. _Voltron was always temporary._ Still. Hearing that word shakes him to the core. Lance says closure, but Keith’s being torn open and everything is suddenly pouring out all over again. Everything is ending all over again. And this time, he feels like he doesn’t have a choice because  _Lance said closure._ Looking down at the small device in his hand, Keith swallows through the growing lump in his throat.

“Pidge set it to delete once it’s been played, so,” Lance turns his back, waving a hand as nonchalantly as he can manage. It’s barely passable. “Make it count, mullet.”

Then he’s gone.

♜

Keith doesn't believe in ghosts. Not the kind that children fear beneath their bed or when they look in the mirror at night. Not the kind that lurk in the shadows or the ones that allegedly leave messages in objects. Ghosts are superstition, hearsay. Energy always had a meaning. Keith feels it himself more often than not. It isn’t paranormal or supernatural. It is simply something bigger than himself, and all of them.

Keith doesn't believe in ghosts. But that doesn't mean he isn't being haunted. When the wind whips up behind his hovercraft, his jacket shakes with voices. Words nip at his ears. Sometimes playfully, sometimes not. Faces he can hardly pull together in detail, ebb in and out of a blurry kind of focus. A camera lens not quite honed in on what it was looking for, because it doesn't know what it's looking for.

Incomplete memories follow Keith everywhere, and they always have done. Because apparently, having the full picture just was too easy. The universe scattered him pieces, not even in the same place and sometimes not even of the same puzzle. Then it expected him to put them together. Or maybe it didn’t.

Keith isn’t sure what the universe wanted for him anymore.

His eyes turn to the device on the bedside table. The room is silent, but all too loud. There is a gravity here, pressing into his ribs and plucking them apart with ease to squeeze tightly against his heart. It hurts. It hurts so much. His pulse races and slams unpleasantly through him. Something akin to a headrush bursts behind his eyes. Reaching for the glass on the table, Keith’s gaze narrows.

It’s unfair how inanimate objects seem to have so much power over him. The Marmora blade tucked into his belt is a prime example of that. Keith has enough questions etched into his eyelids each time he blinked, has enough shackled to his being that could never be explained or fully answered. Insatiable curiosity is only natural given his circumstances.

That doesn't mean he should pursue it.

_Make it count, mullet._

“Shut up, Lance.”

He shouldn’t touch it. Just like he probably shouldn’t be touching the nebula-whisky he’s already pouring down his throat in one quick shot. But here he is. However many years old, however many years after the Galra Empire was defeated. Sat in a hotel on Getaris, straddling the gateway to the reformed universe. He catches sight of himself in the mirror, trailing a hand slowly down his face. Wow. Yeah. What a mess.

“I’m not opening it,” he says out loud, because the six times he’s repeated that fierce mantra internally just doesn’t seem to be cutting it. Every time his eyes catch sight of the curious contraption Lance handed him on Tanem twelve days ago, his fingers ache. It’s a longing kind, the kind that could turn his bones to dust and choke him with the ashes of a fire that burnt for too long and too furiously in solitude.

Self-discipline. Shiro always said that was something he had to learn. It was something he attempted to get better control of. And he had. It took self-discipline to refrain from calling back to Lance as he left Tanem. It took self-discipline to sit here in the face of a terrible temptation. Self-discipline. _Because I know what you’re capable of - if you learn some self-discipline._ No, it’s more than that. This is a matter of self-respect. And if Keith couldn’t respect himself enough to leave it alone, surely he can respect his former teammates enough to _leave this alone_.

Closure, Lance had said.

_Don’t open it. Don’t open it. Don’t open it. Don’t-_

Keith lunges forwards without further hesitation, prying the device open. A blue glow emanates from the core of the device, spilling into the room. It's the same colour as the energy that often lit up the Altean Castle. Seconds later, it forms a pillar of light. Oh. This is a hologram. Pursing his lips, Keith watches a small screen appear inside it. Well. That's a relief. Keith honestly wasn't sure if he could handle seeing them in real-size. Lance in person was quite enough of a shock.

Allura’s arm comes into view, clearing fiddling a little with the camera position. Keith holds his breath. She begins to move backwards, slipping further into the frame. Her eyes are glassy, full of things Keith doesn’t feel he has the right to see. Folding her hands into her lap, Allura takes a seat across from the camera. Lips upturn in something close to a smile. But it doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks like she hasn’t aged a day. And then Keith catches sight of the date on the bottom of the screen. The date he left them. _Shit._ He’s not ready for this. He can’t do this. This was a mistake, this was a mistake he shouldn’t have opened it _why did he open it why did he-_

“-Keith.” Despite the clear turmoil on her face, her voice is composed. Of course. Keith sits quietly, attentive. Her voice always commanded a room with ease. “I told you I knew you better than to try and stop you, and I suppose in some ways that’s true.” A small smile graces her lips, nostalgic in all the wrong ways. “You were always strong enough to make your own path, and stick to a choice no matter what the consequences. I always admired your tenacity, it’s something that held us together more often than not.”

Keith grips the side of the bed tightly, knuckles turning white at the pressure.

“Do you remember when you left to infiltrate Zarkon’s ship?” There’s a pause that follows, as if Allura expects Keith to actually answer. So he does.

“Yeah.” It’s shaky, his voice compromised by the throbbing lump in his throat. He remembers. He remembers stepping out of his seat and proclaiming he would take the mission on. He had always done whatever he could for the mission.

“I told you to come back to us. And you did.” Clutching her chest, Allura bows her head. A laugh leaves her lips and it barrels into him. It knocks the breath out his lungs, and when Allura looks up there are tears glistening in her eyes. “I should’ve tried to make you understand, or try to understand myself why you felt compelled to leave. But instead I - I let you go. Perhaps maybe I pushed you to make such a decision.”

 _No, no. It’s not you, it’s_ **_me._ ** _Allura. It’s always been me. It’s-_

“What I’m trying to say is that you have always been a part of this family. I’m so sorry we-... _I_ failed you.”

“You didn’t,” Keith hisses, voice barely audible.

“And I know that it is foolish to wish upon stars and dream of better days,” Blinking rapidly, Allura pulls her shoulders upwards to counteract a tiny noise that slips between her words. “But you were always one to take risks and chances. So I think it is fitting I follow in your footsteps,”

_Oh._

Leaning forwards on the screen, Allura’s smile splits into two, expression morphing into one of sorrow.

“Come back to us, _please._ ”

Keith barely has time to process that expression before the screen flickers and Coran comes into view.

“Ah, Keith. I’m confident you can’t hear me but I just wanted to-”

Keith blinks rapidly as the videos play out. He watches silently, in hushed reverence. These words matter. They’re important. And they’re all for him. One after the other, they take a seat and they speak. For him. To him. 

“Hey. Uh, so I know you won’t be listening to this because you’re already gone. Thanks for saying goodbye, by the way. Really thoughtful of you.”

Lance.

_I needed to see you, I needed this closure._

“How could you be so selfish, Keith? What-”

_You’re just thinking of yourself, as usual!_

“-I hope you’re okay, man. I mean, I’m mad. Really mad. Like, I’m more mad than that time Lance tried to prank me after curfew and even though that’s like, okay it’s totally different and nowhere the same thing but I’m mad and-”

Hunk.

“I never stopped searching for my family, but whilst searching I discovered a big part of it was always right here with me.”

Pidge.

“Yeah, you heard me mullet!” Lance jabs the screen, but the crack in his voice gives way for more than initial anger. “You’re a big jerk you know that? A big, big _jerk_ _._ I looked up to you, and I - sometimes I even wanted to be you because I thought you were super cool and amazing. I know, what a joke, right? I used to-”

No. This is too much. _Too much._

“I thought we were friends Keith. I know we didn’t bond much at first and it took some time to get to know each other but we had milkshakes together and you found me a cool rock one time and I still have it I mean, I even have the rock right here now I- look-”

Hunk holds up the stone to the screen. Keith remembers the day it caught his eye amidst the many rocks littering the surface of Duxia. It had a soft amber tint to it, warm and welcoming to the eye. In his hands it had been sturdy, like a leg of Voltron. And strong, like Hunk’s heart. It had been a no brainer, it had been paramount to bring it back to show Hunk. Expressing things in words wasn't always easy, but maybe Hunk would understand the significance of what it symbolised. Either way, Hunk looks upon the rock fondly now, cradling it in one palm.

_What if it was me, you wouldn’t leave me there would you?_

Keith winces involuntarily.

_… Would you?_

Yes.

“You told me once I couldn’t leave to find my family. So what makes you so special, huh? What makes you think you get to just up and leave?”

_I left for the team, I left before you could leave me, I-_

“Keith. You always made me want to do better and be the best I could be. Sometimes, I realised that the wrong way, and I - I hurt us both. But I think we settled our differences enough for me to say you’re like family to me now.”

Family. _He had a family._

“You didn’t even say goodbye, Keith. That. Yeah that- that hurt. I mean, that hurt a lot. Like _a lot_ a lot.”

_That’s cold, even for you._

He left.

“ _Why,_ Keith? I didn’t mean it when I called you the loner. I don’t _actually_ think you want to be alone or that you deserve to be. I just-”

_You guys were right I’m the loner._

“I have family back on earth, and I think about them every day. I understand why it’s too dangerous to go home right now whilst we're working stuff out, but I still miss them. I miss Varadero beach. I miss the awesome music and the food, and my Mum. But you guys are my family too.”

_But over time, I’ve come to consider you and the Paladins my family._

“We - well, we can’t force you to come home, but. We’ll always be here.” Hunk pushes his fingers together, clearly uncomfortable and tears are leaking from his eyes.

It can't be true. Keith _heard them._ That day on Olkarion at sunset. They’d confirmed it. Voltron wasn't permanent. When it was over and done, they would all leave.

So he left them all first.

“I miss you. _I miss you_ , Keith! And I’m not even ashamed to say it. If you hear this then you can rub it in all you like and I don’t even care anymore because that would be better than - than this! Not even a day has passed and I miss you. We all miss you!” Lance exclaims passionately, hands thrown up. “I miss teasing you about stupid stuff, I miss our bickering and childish elbow wars. I miss ruffling your hair and-”

“-the way you do that thing with your mouth where you kind of pout and scowl at the same time? Yeah. I - I miss that a lot. Then there’s the way-”

“-I miss you already, and I hate that I miss you because do you even miss us? I mean, obviously not if you left.” Pidge’s face crumples. “Why did you leave us? We need you, Keith. You-”

“-were the _fire_ in all of us! You are the passion and spirit that kept us alive and fighting. Your-”

“-Eyebrow. The eyebrow, man. You raise it up and it’s just like the whole room knows you’re going to make a comment or-”

“- _Never_ quit. All in is what you said once. And I believed it. Because you-”

“- _Belong_ here, Keith! You’re a part of this family, you always have been. I don’t know what more I can say but-”

“-There’s always a home for you here, Keith. If you want us. If you care about us like-”

“- _We care about you_.”

Well.

He’s not ready for this. For any of this. Their voices are surrounding him, and instead of berating him they’re embracing him. Coaxing him. They missed him. They actually missed him. Because they cared about him. _Of course they cared about him._

Sucking in a sharp breath, Keith watches as the date in the corner changes. It’s a few years later. This is the only time the date has changed, and there’s only one person left. Bringing a hand to his mouth, Keith’s uncontrollable keens are muffled against it. If he wasn't ready for that, then he's not ready for  _this._

“Keith...”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Keith gasps. It’s shaky. It’s messy. He splutters on it.

“I… I didn’t actually come in here with a plan on what to say. This is actually kind of spontaneous.”  

“Please, no.” Shaking his head, Keith bites down on his lip.

“It’s taken me three years to get to this point, but I-”

Words spill out Keith’s lips urgently, hasty and meshed together. His jaw is clenched but he’s shaking, teeth gnashing and clinking as his eyes latch onto the hologram.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so - I’m so sorry. I-”

“-I think I’m ready to let you go now.” A bitter resentful laugh. Keith isn’t sure who it’s directed at or what. But knowing Shiro, it’s probably at himself. And that’s _not okay._ “For today, at least.”

That’s it. Keith jumps to his feet, eyes wide and body trembling. _No no no no no no no._ He can’t hear this. He can’t do this. _He can’t-_

“I searched for you. I tried to find some way to contact and I- I just need you to know that I never gave up on you. Not for a second. And I never will-”

“No! Stop it just - just _stop!_ ” Keith dives for the device, frantically crumpling it in his fist. He has to stop this, _please_ make it stop. Turn it off. _Turn it off._

It has no effect.

“But I have to do this, Keith. I have to put this obsession of finding you to rest. I have to move on with the others.”

_You know he would be the first one to tell us that we have to move on._

A sound that should never come from Shiro breaks over the screen, and Keith’s body concaves. It breaks the final shreds of composure he has tucked away to keep safe to prepare for moments jut like this. Shit. No. This isn’t right. He’s done this. He’s done this to all of them.

“So here I am, letting you go.”

“Stop! Stop just, _come on!”_  Tossing the device to the ground, Keith stamps on it forcefully a few times. There’s the sound of things crackling and breaking beneath his foot, but the hologram continues relentlessly without care. _Please stop._

“You were the greatest person I ever met, and I know that wherever you are out there you’re probably achieving wonderful things. You were always destined for greatness.”

Treading backwards slowly, Keith presses back against the wall. As if he can somehow sink into it and escape. But it doesn’t stop. Shiro keeps talking. And instead, Keith sinks against the wall, knees buckling and failing him.

“You once told me I made your life different but-” Shiro’s words grow quicker, tripping over himself as a wave of palpable grief nestles into his shoulders and has them shaking. Keith curls into himself, hands pressed to his ears. Shiro’s words have power and importance. He’d treasure them, never make light of them or toss them away. But he can’t listen to this. He _can’t_ he just _can’t._ These words were meant for him, but he can’t hear them.

“-you made me realise that life was a choice, and I want you to know that I would’ve chosen a life where you’re still with us over any other every single time. But I’m…”

Keith looks up from behind his arms, and Shiro’s mortifying expression pulls a wretched sob from him.

“I’m still going to choose this life, Keith. For our family you left behind, and for myself.”

Abruptly, the screen fades to black. Then it’s all gone. Shiro’s voice ebbs into silence.

It’s over.

♜

And he’ll never hear these words again.  
He’ll never feel this way again.  
Though come tomorrow, he’ll feel this pain again.  
Because pain is a constancy, pain is a friend.  
Pain is familiar, again and again.  
And the only sound here left to hear,   
Are muffled gasps; suppressed tears.

♜

_Go home, Keith._

♜

In hindsight, the hovercraft is too good to be true. Keith set himself the project of fixing it up when it first caught his eye many years ago. He bought the gear to restore it over time, and it continued to serve him well. It flew remarkably well across vast distances, cruising leisurely and then roaring excitedly when Keith needed to simply exist. _Fly._ Their partnership lasted for many years, until this winter on planet Getaris - where he discovered it rains tiny stones similar to diamonds, and sometimes doesn’t see natural sunlight for days on end - completely destroys the a considerable chunk of the wing and engine in one gust.

A trip to the local port the next morning reveals that his craft is well and truly busted. There’s just no fixing the problem. And until he has enough to invest in a new ship, he’s stranded here. _Great._ Just great. He’s stuck. In the same dingy hotel he’s been for six days and _desperate_ to escape, the same room where he collapsed to his knees and became overwrought with grief in the wake of the farewell messages recorded by team Voltron. They follow him everywhere, of course. But now, for the first time, he’s truly trapped.

There’s no escaping.

It’s even worse considering where exactly the planet of Getaris is on the map, and where _he_ is on the planet itself. Keith is in the capital city. A huge hub for intergalactic trade, and a revered centrepoint for many of the reformed universe’s peace talks. Coming here in the first place is a mistake he can’t take back. In _hindsight,_ it was a foolish move. Yes, he needed the cash and people paid damn good here. But he hadn’t been prepared for the intensity of the winter, or the durability of his transport faltering.

Now he’s stuck.

For who knows how long.

Trekking outside the city will undoubtedly lead to smaller suburban settlements. Only, Keith isn’t too keen to travel on foot alone. Not without something up his sleeve that will guarantee him a quick route out. Flying has always been a passion, a sense of fulfilment gained when his hands grip the controls and set a course, but it’s also a necessity in his newfound routine. He has to get out of here, _as soon as possible._ And to do that, he needs a ship.

“Well. Guess I’m staying a little longer than planned.”

Scanning the busy city square, Keith frowns. It’s swamped. This place is overcrowded, and there’s an enthusiasm for life that has been absent in his own for some time. This city is everything Keith doesn’t want. Or need. It’s a place he shouldn’t be, and a place he absolutely cannot stay. Because it’s perilously close to things he is no longer part of. That’s confirmed when he catches sight of the posters on the pillars that give the city artificial sunlight.

_Paladin Parade!_

_The legendary defenders of the universe come to visit our city, and celebrate in the freedom of the reformed universe. We will welcome them with music, joy and love!_

The ink is fresh, tomorrow’s date at the top in a yellow banner. Keith’s thankful that the poster is an artist interpretation of the team as opposed to a photograph. He already has a photo, and he’d hate to discover just how obsolete the picture is now. Pinning the poster back onto the pillar, Keith heads to the hotel. A few people crowd around the pillar, animatedly talking about the parade. Keith tunes it out and finds it easy to do so. His head is throbbing. Rubbing his temple, Keith winces. He’s picking up his pace, but questions scurry right behind him. Yapping at his heels. Insistent and _persistent._ Then it’s clawing at his insides, stinging at his eyes.

_Realisation._

There was no photograph, but he caught the names printed across the bottom of the page.

They’re still together.

After all this time. _Maybe they were always on his side._ Keith’s too late for this kind of revelation. He made his choice, and the result is this. Voltron ended, as he predicted. _But they’re still together._ It doesn’t make any sense. Neither does the ridiculous parade. They were embarrassing and fruitless in the war, and they’re even more fruitless now. The universe doesn’t need Voltron. This is nothing more than entertainment, a show for the public to enjoy. Voltron - the supposed _legends_ behind Voltron, they are so much more than a touring circus act. Keith’s momentarily offended they’ve sold themselves this short.

It’ll be terrible. God knows what Coran has scripted for them. Keith has to purse his lips, and a misplaced laugh crashes behind the wall he made. Catching his reflection in the mirror of the hotel lobby, Keith narrows his eyes.

“Is everything okay, Sir?” one of the staff asks, seemingly confused. Keith figures he must’ve been stood there staring at his reflection _but seeing nothing_ for longer than appropriate. They’re still together, and they’ll _be here._ Together. Complete. Whilst he's here. Empty. They’re going to be here tomorrow. In this city. Out of everywhere in the universe, _they’re going to be here._

“I’m not going,” he affirms. Saying it out loud gives the declaration more strength. _Maybe._

“Going where?”

“I’m not going to the parade.”

He won’t go to the parade. It’s the same resolve he felt when clasping the device Lance gave him. This time, he won’t give in.

♜

Keith gives in.

♜

The streets are more crowded than usual, the city is buzzing with excitement. And Keith’s right in the heart of it. Because Keith is here. Keith is at the paladin parade. And it’s just as ridiculous as he expected it to be. There are obnoxiously bright banners. There is music blaring from the speakers. There are streamers and people are wearing all kinds of costumes. Some people are even dressed as the red paladin. Keith decides to ignore that, and the speculative murmurs amongst the crowd about the lost paladin.

Yeah. Well.

He has definitely lost.

The second the colourful float in the shape of a lion comes into view, and he can make out six figures standing on the top of it waving, Keith is pushing through the crowd. Not to the front. No. He’s pushing his way to the back. A frantic escape route. His only way out.  _Get me out of here._ He shouldn’t be here.

He can’t watch this.

♜

“You don’t understand, I have to get out of here.”

Keith outstretches his palms, frustration bleeding into every crevasse in his voice. He’s been at this for what feels like _hours,_  maybe it has been hours, but the salesman at the dock still shakes his head. Refusal. A hard no. Keith knows it’s reasonable, because he has no money. He has nothing. _But it’s not fair._ Seeing the team just in the _distance_ was too much for him. Knowing they’re here has ruptured every sense of self-discipline and control he has left to his name. He’s restless. Scared. Worse, he’s _hopeful._

So Keith needs to stamp it out. He needs to put a stop to this before it takes hold and he starts doing something as foolish as _wishing_ on shooting stars or having farfetched dreams that will never be. _And I know that it is foolish to wish upon stars and dream of better days…_

It’s worth a final shot.

_But you were always one to take risks and chances. So I think it is fitting I follow in your footsteps._

One final shot to get out of here and _away_ from this.

_Come back to us, please._

“Just- lend me a ship. I’ll get you the money and once I have it, I - I’ll come right back,” he pleads, almost _begs_ and it’s pathetic how desperate he sounds. “I’m not gonna just take it and leave, I swear!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. This guy is pretty good at leaving.”

It’s Shiro.

Keith doesn’t have to look to know. He’d recognise that voice anywhere. Everywhere. Right now, it’s disapproving. Weary. _Wary._ Keith turns on his heel, steeling himself. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this moment. But it’s happening. _Important._ So important. Their eyes meet after the longest stalemate. Then stony grey eyes are boring right into him. Familiar, but worlds away from what he remembers. They’re heavy. Keith tears his eyes away, mapping out the rest of Shiro's face. There are lines around eyes. Under them too. He has more white in his hair than he did before. His hair is a little longer. For Shiro, it’s practically unkempt. There’s a tinge of grey across one side that matches his eyes. He’s also got a beard, littered with black and white hairs.

He looks weathered, so _eroded_ by time and everything it subjected him to.

“Keith?”

“...Shiro?”

 _Shiro._  

“Well,” Lance arrives to stand pointedly next to Shiro. He looks unimpressed. “Talk about emotional whiplash.”

Folding his arms, a defence mechanism, Lance stares him down. And Keith doesn't blame him for that. It's only going to get worse from this point on. Hunk appears beside Lance. He's grown out his hair, bandana now used as a hairband for a ponytail. There’s a little bit of stubble on his chin. Once again, like Lance _and_ Shiro, he’s done a better job at growing facial hair than Keith ever has. Despite ageing, Hunk stands strong with firm muscles and a secure build. But there’s something very wrong about those eyes.

_You didn’t even say goodbye, Keith._

Those eyes are blank. The same kind of blank only unshakable shock can cause. He's unnaturally still and uncommunicative. Overall, it's an unreadable vacant expression. It's one that shakes Keith to the bones. Realisation: _Keith put that there,_ he pushed all the warmth and kindness away. Stripped it down to nothing.

Next to Hunk is Pidge. She's a fair bit taller now, near enough to Shiro’s shoulder. Her jawline has hardened over the years, nose a smooth subtle contrast. She also is sporting an undercut that suits her surprisingly well. Their eyes meet, and Keith catches the flash of metal in the right one. It’s a cyborg eye, he notices. Fashioned after her natural eye, but it moves a fraction slower and shimmers with a silver hue. Still, he spots relief that Pidge struggles to contain before regaining herself. _I miss you already. We need you, Keith._ Adjusting the glasses on her face, she clears her throat.

“I implanted a tracker to the device. It was programmed to open only for you, and once it did the signal was sent directly to my interface.”

She's clearly endeavoured to keep the scientific explanation brief. That or it's simply not a moment she can find comfort or pride in her achievements. It's genius. And Keith expected no less from Pidge. Turning to Lance, he frowns. So this had always been a lure, a ploy. 

“Did you know about this?”

If Lance had something to do with setting this whole thing up, then Keith can't help feel _disappointed_. It gives their impromptu meeting a different meaning. Sincere uncouth words replaced with staged ones to lead up to a bigger plan. Lance had always been a tactical genius. Pairing up with Pidge on this wasn't farfetched at all.

“No,” Lance confirms, as if sensing the prickly irritation budding inside Keith. “I meant what I said, Keith.”

Eyes widening, Keith holds the intent gaze cast his way. Lance meant to say goodbye. He had been letting Keith go. Just like Shiro had strived to do. And now here Keith was, standing before them and hardly able to hold it together. He missed them. Hell. He had missed them so much. Was it fair to ask for them back, after throwing it all away?

“Wait, wait, _wait.”_ Hunk steps forwards now, suddenly animated. “You’re telling me you guys saw each other? _Recently?”_

As the team consider what that means, that Lance purposefully withheld the information from the team, Keith clenches a fist. He can’t let Lance take the fall for this. The only person this falls on is him. It’s about time he took responsibility for the wreckage he left behind him when the war was won. And that wreckage wasn’t the debris or the scarred stars from battle, no. It was the family he had left. _Fled from._ Run. Because Lance was right. He was scared, he was still scared. _So scared._

“Lance gave it to me,” Keith says quickly above the flurry of voices. Shiro still has yet to say anything since the others had arrived. “If it wasn’t for him we might not even be stood here now.”

Though that may not be a good thing. Currently, Keith can’t tell. He isn’t expecting everyone to fall on their knees and cling to him desperately. But he was hoping for something more than this distance. This rift time had forged. He had been an accomplice in deepening it. And _apparently,_ that is the wrong thing to say. Pidge turns to Lance accusingly.

“ _You said_ you dropped it off to Kolivan.”

“Oh come on!” Lance throws his hands up. “We didn’t know for sure he’d see Kolivan or _any of us_ ever again. I thought it was better to hang onto it, so that’s what I chose to do.”

Hope. It was a way of keeping hope.

“But what if he _had_ met Kolivan and Kolivan just didn't tell us?"

"Why would he not tell us, Pidge? That makes absolutely no sense!"

_I see no benefits to this arrangement. For you or them._

Keith knows if there’s a time to keep his mouth shut, _this is it._ Telling the team they’re not wrong and simultaneously throwing Lance under the proverbial bus for his own lapses in judgement isn’t right.

"I don't know, okay? There's so many variables to this situation. What if  _you_ had given Kolivan the device like I asked you to? What if _Allura_ had told us Keith was leaving that night instead of keeping it to herself?”

Allura says nothing, but dares not dip her head. Despite the slight, she holds her ground. There is no loss pride, but there is a twinge of shame. Her eyes meet with Keith’s, almost beseechingly. Oh. She’s still searching for forgiveness that doesn’t even need to be sought. It’s wrong. It’s unfair. So much about this is wrong and unfair. On _all_ of them.

“Look, guys.”

As Keith speaks, the bickering withers away. All eyes turned to him. It's the kind of spotlight he never wanted. Spotlights are intrusive and uncomfortable. People’s prying eyes and interest, their dissection of each word and action - it never leads to the correct assumptions or conclusions. Right now however, he doesn't have much of a say. And considering everything, he owes them this much. 

“You can’t put this on Lance or Allura, or - or _anyone_ besides me.” Pause. Okay, _okay._ Pressing his eyes shut, Keith steels himself.  “I owe a lot of apologies.”

“We _all_ do,” Allura concedes with a sigh, eyes trailing over to Pidge quietly. Keith makes note of that, not unaware of the _unusual_ tension between them both. Even now, blame snakes around Allura with devious intent, binding her hands tightly together. She wears chains she never deserved to bear without hesitation. Nobody goes to alleviate the strain, or pry them off her. Pidge levels a gaze back at Allura, arms folded to mirror Hunk. It’s almost as if Lance and Allura are a faction, and Hunk and Pidge are another. Shiro is somewhere in the middle, hopelessly and tragically tearing himself apart at the seams just to reach out to everyone.

And Keith wonders if he put that unspoken distance there, drove an unyielding colossal wedge between the team in his absence.

“Maybe so,” Pidge’s eyes dart back to Keith. Teeming and enthused curiosity is misplaced here, distorting into a clinical assessment. “But Keith has been gone for eleven years.”

 _Eleven years._ Keith isn’t sure he should be allowed to feel relief. He’d thought it had been longer. It felt longer. So much longer. Voltron was a lifetime ago, a chapter in a book he used to clutch tightly to his chest and reverently read. 

“An explanation would be better.” Allura _sounds_ slighted this time, as if only remembering just _how long_ it’s been.

Keith doesn’t _have_ an explanation. Not one that could make any of this remotely okay or understandable. Not without touching upon places deep inside that may edge him into the realm of sheer panic and allow fear to seize him. But Allura is right. They have _every right_ to be betrayed, to feel angry and owed so much. They deserve an explanation. Even if it might plunge him into cold icy water, have him coughing up dwindling flames and suffocating on the smoke. 

“I…”

_Then you’ve chosen to be alone!_

A hand clasps his shoulder, and Keith trembles at the gesture. _Shiro._ It’s been years. So long since that gesture of emotional support and trust was given freely to him. So long since the pair of them were face to face. Shiro doesn’t need to say a word, just from the frown etched into his face it’s clear that he understands. Sometimes there are things too trauma-inducing to talk about, or even try to breach in a conversation. Yet alone in front of a group of people who aren’t there for the same thing.

Keith is grateful. But he doesn’t feel like he’s allowed to be. Swallowing through the unpleasant lump in his chest, Keith steps away from Shiro’s comforting touch. There's every chance Shiro is just being considerate because he's a nice person. Nothing more. 

“Remember those video logs we did? Coran thought it would be good to make them for future generations,” he begins slowly, averting his gaze to the floor. There’s a tear in his boots. If it rains, his feet will get soggy. The team remain quiet, anticipating his next words. “Well, it’s… just. Watch that.”

“Are you sure?” Shiro seems to catch onto what Keith is offering them. These logs weren’t meant to be seen by anyone alive for the next few centuries at least. This is heavily personal, a capsule of their identities sent to the future. Clenching a fist, Keith nods firmly.

“Watch it.”

It’s been so long. He doesn’t remember the exact words on that log, but he remembers the nature of it well enough. Sitting in that seat and having a place to just _talk_ without judgement or anyone listening had been liberating. He was so young back then, still untarnished by the solitude that curdled his frustration into bitterness. It was amazing, really. He’d been _surviving_ for so long. But somewhere down the line, the survival lost its sense of purpose and meaning.

“I’m not- I’m not saying it’s an explanation or an excuse. But,” Keith shrugs. It’s heavy and he can feel his shoulders tingling. There’s a growing ache where Shiro’s hand had been. “Watch it. Maybe it’ll help. And-”

Pulling something out of his pocket, Keith swallows hard. Well. Here goes.

“Watch this.”

“Is that-...?” Lance's voice dwindles away as he stares down at the small tape in Keith’s hands.

_Yes. Yes it is._

“Yeah.” Keith laughs weakly, fingers protectively cradling the tape as the others lean in to inspect. Honestly, he couldn’t quite believe his luck himself. He knows it’s not what Lance is asking, but he answers with the words he’s dedicated himself to anyway. “I found a camcorder in some kind of alien market on Terrias. There was an earth stall and I spotted it immediately. Hit the jackpot. They had no idea what they were handing over for twenty GAC.”

“You got a vintage camcorder for _twenty_   _GAC?”_ Pidge sounds incredulous, but it’s the first real question born of curiosity she’s asked as opposed to leading the interrogation against him.

“You always had a knack for finding retro stuff like this...” Shiro adds in a hushed voice, and it almost goes missed. The residual fondness is palpable, stewing in grey eyes. Snapping his attention to Shiro, Keith sharpens his gaze. Serious. He has to make sure they all understand the gravity of what is on this tape. This isn't a nostalgia trip or some memory-lane game. Holding it out to them, Keith is unsure who to pass it to. His eyes settle on Allura, and stay there. She bristles under the intensity, but gives as good as she gets.

“Take it.”  

At the words, Allura reaches forwards to take the tape. She observes it with cautious delicacy.

“Pidge, Hunk. Do you think it’s possible to play this through the castle?”

“It shouldn’t be too difficult.” Hunk admits, continuing with an impressive spiel of terminology and science Keith doesn't understand.

“I should… probably go.” The farewell falls abruptly from his mouth and far earlier than intended. It’s too soon. But this is _too much._ Keith can feel himself unravelling endlessly. There might not be enough of his hard grit will to keep him from bursting explosively. The team shatter all over again in his presence. Realisation hits. He didn’t mean it _like that,_ but he’s hardly surprised they jump to that conclusion.

After all, he’d done it before.

He’d left them before.

“Well. At least this time you’re saying goodbye. Even if it’s half-arsed.” Lance gets defensive again, eyebrows drawn together and eyes narrowed.

Keith is momentarily startled by the dyspeptic demeanour of his former friend. He’s about to explain _that’s not what he meant,_ when a shallow laugh escapes Shiro’s lips.  It’s far from a happy noise, more disbelieving and born from shock. But it’s a start.

“I... think Keith just meant he’s going to his room for the night.”

Lance looks a little sheepish at that, but doesn’t apologise. Keith isn’t expecting an apology. Not when he has so many traced over his lips ready to give. Nobody offers for Keith to join them in the castle,  which he understands. Probably because it's not his home. The hotel isn't his home either. But they still seem wary about leaving him here.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he affirms. And still, they look unconvinced. Unfastening his belt, Keith holds out his Marmora blade. His knife. The one he’s _always_ carried on him for as long as he can remember. One of the most integral pieces of his heritage. It’s terrifying to hold it out to others and be separated from it. However, it’s the biggest gesture of trust he can think of. Lance takes the blade, openly appreciating the craftsmanship of it.

“In the morning, you can give it back," he says for good measure, because Lance looks way too attached. 

“That works,” Lance grins, smoothing a finger over the body of the blade. Swinging it far too casually for Keith’s liking, Lance gapes. “Woah. The speed on this thing is amazing. No wonder you fought like such a space ninja.”

“Lance.” Shiro sounds like he's biting the inside of his cheek. To refrain from crying or to mask misplaced amusement, Keith isn't sure. He doesn't like not being sure. There once was a time he could read Shiro so fluently. Either he's gotten worse at that over the years, or Shiro has improved at self-suppression. God. He hopes it's the former.

“Goodnight, Keith.”

It's polite; strained. No hugs are exchanged. No awkward handshakes or shoulder squeezes his body yearns for. Just loaded gazes, vulnerable and exposed. It’s a jarring reminder: Keith isn't the only one treading on splintering ice. They all are. _For him_. Maybe with him. But that might be wishful thinking. Allura herself said it was foolish to dream.

♜

Keith hardly can think of sleep when his head hits the pillow. _When my head hits the pillow, I'm gonna be lights out._ The truth is, he's been restless and jittery since the second he entered his room. Fingers tap thighs persistently, the rhythm getting more aggressive and intense the longer he sits. So he stands up, pacing back and forth. There's a lion caged deep inside his chest, trying to claw its way out. He can't let it. If he lets it, Keith isn't sure what will happen. He could laugh. He could sob. He could scream.

Another hour passes, and then there's a knock on the door. Well rounded and neat. It startles him. But it startles him more that he has no idea who it is. He isn't expecting visitors, especially at this hour. Heart lurching in his chest, Keith darts forwards. With a shaky hand, he pries open the door.

It's Pidge.

She doesn't attempt to come inside. Or speak. And Keith is in no position to question it. He  _knows this._ Instead, Pidge perches against the wall adjacent to his room. Slowly, Keith moves to sit cross-legged in the doorway. There's space between them, but that's for the best. For a moment, Pidge just sits there scrutinising him. Her eyes trail over his face and over the ratty pyjamas. If they can even be called that.

“You travel light.”

“Mhm,” Keith barely manages in response. “You planned this.”

“Getaris was on our visiting list,” Pidge replies noncommittally. For a second, Keith thinks she’ll let it slide. But she doesn’t. Because this is Pidge. Adjusting glasses, lips twitch. “You travel light,” she repeats.

Silence washes over them, awkward all over again - but not exactly uncomfortable. It's the kind of fumbling that occurs when shards of unfamiliarity slip into a friendship. Time either strengthens foundations or turns them to ruin. Despite fighting an entire war together, there's not much more tethering their souls anymore. At least, Keith thinks so. Still, the fact Pidge is _here_ is curious. He’s not stupid. Pidge got the signal to his location, then the team show up days later in the very same city. For now, he stifles the question dancing in his mouth.

“I didn't have much to pack.”

He didn't. Whilst he'd started an impressive collection of rocks and cool objects that caught his eye on world's visited, he hardly had endeavoured to make his room cosy. It was a found home, but Keith had always been a traveller. Some people said home was where the heart nestled itself. Keith had always been able to find home where his heart ached and bled itself dry. Spilling over desert sands, turning it red.

Levelling Keith a pointed look, Pidge’s lips tug into a grimace.

“You left a lot of stuff behind.”

The implications are loud enough. Averting his eyes. Keith pinches the bridge of his nose.  _You planned this._ She's not a genius for nothing. 

“Yeah.”

“Can't have been that hard to leave behind though. I mean, you managed.”

There it is. Everything Pidge has been working up to. The words are clipped, laced with a fiery bite. But it's hollowed out in a disturbing way. Perhaps it’s the dimmed lighting of the hallway, or the way everything in the early hours of the morning is often more unwound. Hazy. The accusation has Keith sitting up nonetheless, spine locking rigidly. He left. He did. But it didn't mean it was _easy._ Or that he liked the idea. _I'm not saying I like the idea, I'm just thinking like a paladin._

There's nothing Keith can say. She’s not wrong. He managed. He’s always managed. Keith’s a survivor through and through. Self-preservation thrums in his veins, a streak that conflicts with self-sacrifice. He’s given up a lot to live. And he’s set aside a lot to keep living. People. Memories. Places.

Keith hopes that come tomorrow, he’ll have better words to make the silence less substantial.

♜

The morning comes, and words don’t come. Silence is substantial, heavy in a way that clogs the air and makes breathing difficult. Overall, it is painfully awkward.

Keith has never been to a family reunion with distant relatives and clashing parties, but he imagines this is what it feels like. When time has stretched people and their lives so far apart, suddenly flinging them back together is messy. The pieces have changed, they don’t slot together the same way.

Lance slides the knife over the table as the breakfast buffet at the hotel opens. Keith pockets it quickly, feeling a little better with it by his side. It’s the one thing he’s always had with him no matter what. The city is rooted in earth culture, that's why Keith likes it so much. A lot of earth customs had been implemented here and brought over. There's something like bacon and eggs on his plate. With Actual Proper ketchup. It's familiar. A little more comfortable.

But it’s not home.

“Sleep well?” Shiro asks across the table. It's small talk and terribly ironic coming from someone who looks like they also had a restless night and is plagued by nightmares. Keith's eyes flick over to Pidge but she doesn't return it.

“Yeah.” No.

There's no point returning the question, it would just be unintentionally spiteful. Shiro is doing the best he can here. They’ve all got stuff to work through.

“Well. _I_ had a really weird dream,” Lance butts in, leaning over the table to pinch a bit of food from Keith’s plate. Scowling, Keith watches him chew obnoxiously. Then there's a small wink that has Shiro choking on his juice. Keith contemplates if they're at a stage where he can openly flip Lance off, or if this is all for show. Not even for Keith, but for the others. Lance is luring everyone into a more comfortable atmosphere.

“Don’t you want to know what it was about?”

“Not really,” Keith responds with ease. Lance meets his eyes, and they share tentative yet earnest smiles for the first time. The remnants of their bickering rekindle between them. It’s embarrassing how Keith’s heart races and his hands lose the ability to clasp the tableware. It’s been so long since anyone looked at him like that, looked at him like he belonged somewhere. _You belong here, Keith._

One glance around the table makes it clear Lance is carrying the entire team through this moment. He’s always been a team player, prepared to take on the weight of whatever came their way. If it meant being the clown, or being the motivational speaker, he would do it. Lance was versatile like that, fluid and adaptable. Keith appreciates it more than ever right now. Because Hunk is still terrifying quiet. Allura looks like she's been herded into a diplomatic meeting she's unsure how to proceed with. Pidge is picking at her food, honing all her attention towards the egg on her plate as if it's the most fascinating thing in the room (maybe it is; the shell is a cool shade of orange). Coran is more relaxed, stealing sympathetic glances at Keith intermittently. It's not sympathy Keith _wants_ , but he’s going to have to deal with it.

And then there’s _Shiro-_

“So, Keith,” Allura begins delicately.

Her eyes flicker towards the Paladins. She's asking for back up, but nobody besides Lance is willing to give her it. Probably because they have no idea how to start a conversation with Keith anymore. Admittedly, it was hard enough before they parted ways. Over the years, Keith has missed good company and good talks. He’s full of rotting words and dusty sentences he can no longer piece together. In their place comes more imperatives. Short utterances and curt acknowledgements. Smalltalk is something he despises. However, if it's going to ease everyone into _whatever happens next_ then he’ll do it. It’s about time he did something right.

“Looks like it’ll clear up later,” Keith gestures with his fork to the window. It’s a lie. The clouds are overcast and a deep shade of grey. Not dissimilar to the murky haze smearing over his eyes. “Should get some nice weather.”

“That's wonderful!” Allura admits, far too brightly. Her hands clasp together and Pidge visibly recoils in disgust. Okay. It’s a tough crowd to please, _understandably._ “Perhaps you can give us a tour, Keith?”

Blinking, Keith takes a sip of the bytor water. It’s a little too cold, but he swallows it down. Tour. Right. That entails actually knowing the city, tracing out the roads and knowing them like the lines on his palms.

“Well. I-”

“-He’s not been here for long, can’t you tell?” Pidge interrupts, finally looking over at him. It’s a thousand degrees closer to outright fury than the muffled nature of last night. She’s right. Of course she’s right. Is he really that predictable, that _readable?_ He hopes not. There are things he’s miserably attempting to hide. “He won’t be staying long either. Keith’s always been the loner. What else did you expect?”

_I didn’t mean it when I called you the loner._

If his hovercraft wasn’t _wrecked,_ then Pidge would be on the mark. Keith clutches his fork tighter, breathing unsteady. Solitude had always followed him, burrowed itself into his side. Those spires of solitude found him, rising up in the desert. It had become his home, in many respects. A personal thorn in his side, for better or worse. Maybe the pressure of it was important and something he needed to feel. It serves as a reminder for being alive, another reminder of another day he’s survived. Alone. _Loner._

The elastic is snapping. Niceties and pleasantries unravel under unbearable strain. They’ve all been so tolerant of each other and of him. But it’s only a matter of time for the heightened emotions everyone is feeling to collide catastrophically. Pidge’s words are apparently the catalyst. In no shape or form is Keith prepared for this reunion. 

“Actually,” he starts, but doesn't get much further. “My ship-”

“-Whoops, guess what. Don’t care.”

Shiro’s hand slams down on the table, eyes narrowed.

“That’s enough, Pidge.”

“No.” Hunk’s voice is rich and deep, the embodiment of honey. Only now it’s closer to hot wax. As the words pour out, they stick to Keith and refuse to leave. He’s entangled in it, trapped by the intensity of it all. “This isn’t Voltron anymore, Shiro. We all have things we want to say.”

“We can say them after breakfast.” It’s a sensible suggestion, but Keith already can see Hunk pushing his plate forwards and turning up his nose. Rejection. It’s a rejection. Not of the food. Not of breakfast or the hotel. Of Keith. It hurts.

Pidge scoffs, glaring at Shiro. She’s irrational and immature in her anger. Keith relates to it.

“What, and just _pretend_ everything is fine?”  

“No. I just mean that this isn’t the time for any of that.”

Shiro shouldn’t be the one thrown into hot water here, or chewed out. However, the unrest of the team is darting in his direction instead of Keith’s. They're taking it out on each other, as if he isn't sat  _right here._

“Then _when is,_ Shiro?”

“Hey. Knock it off,” Keith says before he can stop himself, because he doesn’t like that tone of voice being used on someone who has always been trying to help _everyone_ and _everything_ in the universe. Even at the expense of his own wellbeing and happiness. Shiro gave it all up, over and over again. He held the universe in his hands and pushed it back into the light. And instead of letting it fall back into darkness, or leaving it to fend for itself, he holds it there. Patiently. Selflessly. He holds the momentous weight without hesitation. And he would do it again in a heartbeat, Keith’s sure.

“Excuse you?”

“You heard me. I said, knock it off.” It’s the wrong thing to say, of course. Keith has been searching for the right words since the day they entered those caves on earth. He never found them. Shiro seems offended by him stepping in. Pidge and Hunk exchange glances, then turn their attention on Keith. Directly. An unwelcome double team.

“Where were you, Keith?”

For a moment, Keith thinks Hunk is asking him to list all the places he’s visited. It should be a relief to discover he’s wrong about what Hunk is asking because he can hardly remember where he was last _week._ But it’s not. Not at all. The yellow paladin is continuing strong.

“Where were you when Shiro almost lost his other arm?”

 _What._ Eyes wide, Keith turns frantically to Shiro who is wetting his lips with his tongue nervously. No. That can’t be true. Slowly, he pulls up his sleeve. Now Keith’s looking, he can see the mottled whitened flesh across his left arm. It’s like something sunk in its teeth and _dragged._ Hard. Keith reaches forwards, and the moment is broken. Shiro pulls down his sleeve, eyes fixed on the table pointedly. He inches a fraction away from Keith, cautious. Guarded. That draws a small helpless noise from Keith’s mouth. _I’d never hurt you Shiro, I never meant to-_

“Where were you when Sendak broke into the castle and almost assassinated the princess in her sleep?”

 _What._ Sendak. Sendak was **_alive?_** He found the castle. He attacked. He almost- Keith turns to Allura urgently. _Tell me that’s not true. Please. Please._ She nods weakly. Confirmation. Keith feels sick to the stomach, an unpleasant wave of nausea rocking through him. God. He hadn’t been there for him. He’d missed so much. Not just the good things, the laughter and silly jokes. He’d missed the ugly, horrible things that family built itself upon stubbornly, refusing to let the universe win.  

“Where were you when-”

Pressing his eyes shut, Keith hisses sharply. There are too many questions. _Who did that to Shiro?_ What happened to Sendak? How close did he get to ending Allura’s life? How did Pidge lose her eye?  _Who did that to Shiro?_

“-I get it.”

Lifting his head to Hunk, Keith stares back coldly. There is something unforgiving in the way the yellow paladin continues to speak and refuses to let Keith have his way. Keith supposes he may not deserve Hunk’s forgiveness, but he isn’t asking for it either. He's asking for respect. He _understands_ these people are hurt, wounded. Scarred. They all carry their personal trauma inflicted by the war. Hunk’s kindness is something earned. Deserved. Right now, he hasn’t earned it. But everyone deserves respect. 

“I don’t think you do,” Pidge spits and her cyborg eye glows in a curious way. Keith can’t look away. He owes her this. Closure. Catharsis. Whatever this is, he owes it. “You once told me that everybody in the universe has families and people they’re looking out for. But that can’t be bigger than the mission. Well it’s no different here, Keith. _Every single one of us_ has been to hell and back for the universe. But that was never bigger than our family. That was-”

Something breaks in Pidge then. She bows her head, but it’s too late to stifle the unmistakable sound of tears streaming from her eyes. _I miss you and I hate that I miss you._ The lapse in Pidge’s resolve finally shatters the yellow paladin. _I’m mad, Keith. I’m so mad._

“I can’t stay mad anymore, Keith. I’m sorry. I’m sorry we’ve been so rude and awful, but you kind of _walked out_ on us without even saying goodbye, you know?” _That hurt Keith._ “So I think we’re allowed to be a little mad. Now that you’re here, I thought I could be strong and have everything I wanted to say planned out. But - but one look at you and your-”

“-Eyebrow? Pout-scowl?” Keith prompts weakly, because he remembers everything Hunk said in his video, and he wants Hunk to understand he didn’t forget it.

That crumples Hunk completely. He brings a hand to his mouth, heaving into it. Allura is next, openly weeping and having to cling onto Coran for support who is dabbing at the moisture beneath his eyes. Shiro is quiet. But he’s shaking and his eyes are pressed shut tightly. Keith thinks he sees moisture trickling from the corners. Lance looks over to Keith slowly. They share an agonising look. _You gonna tell the others_   _about this?_ And Keith understands it now; Lance’s reservations. _No, it'd hurt them too much._

“The tapes.” Standing, Keith clears his throat. He can't watch them fall apart because of him again. “We - we should watch the tapes.”  

In unanimous agreement, the team get to their feet. They all look terrible. Hardly the glistening beautiful heroes the universe made of them. Keith turned them into this, and he’s not remotely proud of it.

“You’re right,” Allura says through a wave of emotion that has her voice unnaturally rupturing. “Let us go to the castle.”

She doesn’t call it home.

Keith realises as they walk that he really wanted her to call it home.

♜

The castle is pretty much exactly how Keith remembers it. Though he supposes that’s not surprising. It’s an ancient piece of work. Renovations and changes would be disrespectful to the architects that built it, and to King Alfor. Not that it needs any work. Whilst the team have notably aged, the castle looks the same. Feels the same. Keith can sense the lions are here, in their hangars. The red lion gnaws at his mind whilst the black lion keeps a respectful distance. There’s a curt acknowledgement of his presence, juxtaposed with a furious probing. That’s fitting.

Walking into the room they sat and made plans in many times, Keith finds they’re not alone.

“Kolivan?” he asks in surprise as the Galra meets his eyes.

The team sit on the couch, a screen ready and set up to play the tapes Keith gave to them. Nervously, Keith remains on the outskirts of the room. He isn’t sure he can sit through this, but he ought to. If he could muster enough strength to make each of them a video response, then he could find that strength again to watch it back. Shiro turns his head, gesturing to the spare seat in the room. Considering the team have just come down from one of the most intense outbursts of emotion Keith’s ever seen from them, it’s not a good idea to get too close.

He’s dynamite. He makes everything explosive, including himself.

Coran grabs the remote, once Keith gives a firm nod, and the video log plays. The team listen, attention fixed on the screen, and Keith watches his younger self sit down. Woah. Okay. He really is dynamite. That's palpable in how this Keith moves. Fast and unyielding. Sharp and striking. A little mesmerising in the force of it all. This is an important video, one where he unintentionally talked and talked and _talked._ He talked about things he’d kept hidden from everyone. Even Shiro. _And so instead of accepting people into my life, I push them away before they reject me._ It’s difficult to share, but it’s the right choice. The team need to see it. _I guess I have some walls up._ They need to hear these words and understand them. As his younger self storms off screen, voice breaking and panic rising in his chest, Keith can’t risk looking at any of them.

Nobody says a word.

The camcorder tape is slotted into the Altean machine next. Keith steels himself. Okay. This is it. This is the moment his whole life has been leading up to. Vindication. Forgiveness. Wipe the slate clean, set it all right again. There’s a presence beside him as the tape begins to play. Kolivan. His eyes don’t leave the screen, _can’t._ God. He looks almost as terrible as the team did at breakfast on the recording. There are dark lines carved into his eyelids. His face is sullen, sunken and pale. Everything about him screams exhaustion. And fear. His voice is unfamiliar, too. There’s a terrifying vulnerability there. In all of this. In watching how the walls are have all come down on screen. _Take it or leave it._ It’s all out in the open, every single piece of him on display for the team to see. 

And for himself to witness. There’s something horribly revealing about watching yourself. Keith finds the mirror hard enough some days. But a private series of speeches he’d rehearsed in the hotel room is definitely overwhelming to process. _What was he thinking?_ This is a mistake, and Keith hears it. He hears it in his voice as he speaks on the screen.

“Allura, I just want you to know that you never failed. Me or - or anyone. That goes for you too, Coran.”   

He hears it all falling apart before it’s barely started.

“Hey. Uh, so. I know the chances of you even hearing this are pretty slim. Especially considering-"

Lance.

“-You have every right to be mad. _I_ would be mad too. You’re right. I - I should’ve said goodbye. It was wrong of me to leave you without-”

Hunk.

“-giving you some answers. If we ever meet again then, I promise I’ll give them to you. Whatever you want to ask, I’ll answer. Whatever you need me to do, so that you get-”

Pidge.

“-Closure. You said you wanted closure when we met on Tanem. And I… maybe you’re right. Lance, maybe you are. About me being selfish. Because hearing those words come from you scared me enough to realise that-”  

Keith clenches a fist, hitching his breath as the tape plays out. One after the other. It all blurs into one, spiralling through his head. All the words he said. All the things he poured into this tape, theses recordings.  

“-you still have the rock. I… I can’t believe you still have it after all this time. I picked it because it reminded me of you. The way you-”

This is it.

“-called me a loner. I know you didn’t mean it. You're right... I’ve always been alone, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to be. I-”

This is moment where those spires of solitude pierce through his chest and hold him firmly in place.

He _doesn’t want that._ He wants _this._

“-Miss you. Okay, _there._ I said it. Guess that makes us even. Now we both get to rub it in each other’s face and-”

He wants them. But this is where his actions consign him to a world so far from their guiding light. Keith has always found familiarity in places.

“-I’m now paying a ridiculous amount of attention to my eyebrow, thanks to you. I didn’t even know-”

He made a choice to break the pattern before it broke him. If he didn’t leave, all of him would be reduced to cinders.

“-you really felt that way about me.”  

This is the beginning of the end.

“Shiro,”

This is his swansong.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Keith gasps. It’s shaky. It’s messy. He splutters on it. Kolivan clasps his shoulder. The gesture is dizzying in magnitude.

“I… it’s taken me three attempts to get to this point, Shiro. But I-” Words spill out Keith’s lips urgently on the screen, hasty and meshed together. His jaw is clenched but he’s shaking, teeth gnashing and clinking as he speaks.

 _“You have to know_ , Shiro. You have to know that without you, I would be nothing. You are the one person who never gave up on me. I gave up on myself. And by doing that, I also gave up on everything you believed was inside me.” A bitter resentful laugh. “I gave up on everything. And I understand now, that the final thing I can give you is this.”  

 _No no no no no._ Keith knows what’s coming. He knows the words. He was so sure of them. But now he’s not. _Not now he’s here._

“Closure.”

_-Stop this._

“So here I am, letting you let me go. I want to-”

Keith wants to stop this. Just like before, in the hotel room, he feels his body concaving in on itself. Knees buckle, pressure builds inside. He’s dynamite. Explosive. Kolivan keeps him upright, chin resting on his head.

“Goodbye.”

Bringing a hand to his mouth, Keith stifles the awful noise. Eyes clamp shut. Tune it out. Static so loud. _Don’t tune me out, please. Don’t tune this out._

“You replied,” Pidge breathes when it’s finally finished. _Thank god it’s finally finished._ Keith blinks an eye open, regathering as much of himself as he can because they’re starting to look over. Pidge’s eyes are shining, but it might just be the lack of light. “You replied to each and every one of us.”

Stepping forwards with urgency, Keith commands the focus of the whole room. His balance wavers as he takes the steps, but he needs to do this. _He has to._ This was unplanned, _unprecedented._ But he hadn’t expected them to listen, to _watch._ He hadn’t expected anything at all.

“What I'm trying to say is, I think I want in.” No. _That’s not right._ Shaking his head, Keith stumbles further into the centre of all of this. He dives in headfirst, charging with as much momentum as possible. Face it head-on. Brace for impact. _I’m all in._  

“I mean, I - I want in. I don’t _think_ I want in, _I know I do.”_

Now, entirely at the mercy of his own emotions and the family he had and he _lost,_ Keith is dangling over the highest peak he’s ever climbed. And he’s willing to jump. If that’s what it takes. These people could make him. They could resurrect the fires he used to start, and stoke old flames. Or they could break him. They could watch him burn alone, all of him reduced to cinders. His composure is charred, crumbling in the potent heat of this moment.

The room is quiet. All eyes are on him, and Keith can taste the tears that have cascaded down his face without his permission. Huh. He always had been, for the most part, a silent crier.

“I want to be part of this. But I - I understand maybe it's too late. And that’s…” Keith hitches a breath, eyes closing for a moment. _Come on._ This is not his moment. It’s theirs. If they want closure, he’s going to give it to all of them. Here and now. But not without a fight of his own. _His final fight._ “That’s okay. If you want me to walk, I’ll walk. But if you want me to stay… then, I-” his voice cracks and the raspy tone falls into dangerous territory. Unshed tears burn in the back of his throat, alongside a sob he cannot let them hear. Wretchedly, Keith averts his gaze and the noise slips out as he speaks. _“I really want to stay.”_

“Oh, Keith…” Allura whispers, lips trembling.

“So here I am,” _Letting you go._ “Saying no.” At this point, his voice is devastating to listen to. Even to himself. Uneven. Wrecked. Cleaved open. _Bleeding._ “I don’t want you to let me go. And I don’t want to let you go either, because I-”

And just like that, the group are barrelling into him. There’s an outcry of so many things. Joy. Despair. Pain. Elation. Regret. It's a clumsy hug. There are too many people involved for it to work, and Keith has no idea where to put his hands. But it doesn’t matter, because they’re squished tightly by his side. It doesn’t matter because they’re here. He’s here. _They’re all here._ Kolivan even steps forwards, a rueful smile on his lips as he leans over to card a hand through Keith’s hair and join the embrace. _You’re not my dad._ Their eyes meet, and Kolivan nods gently. Encouragingly. _You should be proud of those accomplishments, Keith. I’m proud of them._  

No words are spoken, no words _need_ to be spoken. The actions are enough. Still, Keith tries to pry his way out the hug.

_If you want me to walk, I’ll walk._

But he can’t escape. Hunk is the first to pull him back in and hold him there. Lance leaps forwards and slings arms around his shoulders from behind. It’s playful and silly. Keith’s too overjoyed to scowl or pout, _pout-scowl._ Whatever. 

_But if you want me to stay then… then I-_

He’s never been able to escape them, not really. Not ever. Even after all this time. They're tied together. All of them.

_I really want to stay._

♜

Keith knows they’re taking off from Getaris soon. So it’s with hastiness he runs back to the hotel and packs his bag. He won’t be long, he tells them. And he won’t. Just separating from them again is making him jittery. Uncomfortable. He stuffs a few things into the rucksack, hands still shaking from an adrenaline high he can’t come down from. Stuffing things into his bag, he opts out of fully considering what he’s leaving behind. The knife is tucked into his belt. They’re out there, waiting for him. What more could he want? What more could he _need?_

Keith can't think of a single thing. 

The crowd around the castle outside make a noise of awe, and there’s the unmistakable sound of an engine bursting to life. The ground shakes, and Keith’s bones rattle with residual fear. Realisation. People cheer jubilantly and Keith’s blood goes cold.

_No._

Opening the hotel window, Keith jumps off the ledge. It’s reckless. But like _hell_ is he letting them leave without him. He falls to the ground with a thud. It’s only one floor, but it still hurts. _Not as much as the castle leaving._

“Move!” Keith yells fiercely, shoving his way desperately through the crowd of spectators.

_No! Please no._

Keith runs, pushing his body as much as he possibly can to its furthest limits. His legs almost give way in the process, his lungs are burning. All of him, reduced to cinders. But he doesn’t stop. He won’t stop.

 _You once chased truth and virtue_.

“Let me through, _please_! Now!”

Pushing his way to the front, Keith catches his breath at the sight. The ramp is raising, but Shiro’s right there. Expectant. Waiting. They’re waiting. Oh wow. _God._ It's true. They really waited.  

_Keith that’s not how a team works, they have to want to be a part of it._

Shiro holds out a hand, crouching down at the ramp. It’s tentative, a little uncertain. But he’s certain in this much, certain enough to wait for Keith. _Come on, Keith._ That’s enough for Keith. The castle starts to lift further off the ground, and Keith doesn't look back. He doesn’t spare a glance for the damaged hovercraft, the things he left behind in that hotel. He doesn’t look back at the people gasping and piecing the story together: “ _it’s the lost paladin!_ ”. He doesn’t look back when people start to chant and cheer. Instead, he charges forwards and jumps. Keith looks ahead and reaches forwards for Shiro’s hand. _I’ve got you buddy!_ Their hands meet. He’s hauled up into the ship.

“You're cutting it a little fine,” Shiro teases lightly as Keith catches his breath. The door closes behind them, and the castle picks up speed.

“You weren’t gonna leave without me.”

Keith isn’t sure about that. And it scares him. He’s still unsure about so much.

“No,” Shiro’s thumb traces over Keith’s palm before letting go. But he’s not letting him go. “No leaving. Ever again.”

Keith laughs, something hot and uncomfortable prodding at his eyes. _God._ It’s hard to believe he’s here. Shiro is really here in front of him. The team are here. _He’s here._ In the castle. This is  _real._ This is actually real. 

“Shiro is being serious you know,” Pidge’s voice chimes in from over the comms. “We’ve set some house rules. From now on, if anyone leaves this castle there’s a curfew.”

She’s joking, Keith realises a few seconds too late.

“We were just testing your skills back there,” Lance teases, assuming control of the comms. There’s something raw there, though. And upon reflection, Keith realises that everything he just experienced was probably the same panic the team felt to waking up and finding him gone. _God._ It’s not okay. But they’re together now. And that’s okay.

“You’ve lost so much of your form, man. I might actually be able to _beat you_ in a match!”

Keith scowls, pouts - _pout-scowls._ There’s an elbow nudging into his side, almost pushing him completely off-balance.

“It's good to have you back.”

Keith raises an eyebrow at Shiro. The former black paladin is beaming good-naturedly. There’s only one thing Keith can say, one way to affirm his place here forever. Because this is _exactly_ where he should be.

_“It's good to be back.”_

It's good to be home.

♜

And he’ll never let this go again.  
He’ll never leave this place again.  
Though come tomorrow, he’ll question himself again.  
But here is constancy, here are his friends.  
Here is calling, again and again.  
And the only thing that's left to say,  
Is The Lost Paladin has finally found his way.

♜


End file.
